Ravensblood Forest it is the stones for altars

”Vartija,” the specter murmured, the foreign token trailing from his tongue rather loftily. Plush ears curled forward, drawing in all that Wintersbane had to tell. A gentle, hoarse chuckle left his lips at the mention of the pack getting its say, for once. ”So it is essentially a kind of guild, no? Oh... it makes me reminisce of my Rhaesuial.” His shoulders rounded, drawn down by a surge of weight. ”Perhaps I may become a bard, so that I may sing of the splendorous quarrels of our people,” Vonn jested without thought, a crooked simper curling his lips.

But then he started again, having realized he’d made this situation inclusive. Passing tongue over teeth in thought, he continued, ”The Vartija sound intriguing. Deviating, thrilling... hm.” With a slight pout in his lips — a quirk he and his sister bore — he nodded faintly, eyes drifting from the proposer and into the most about them. ”You make a singular proposition. I have one of my own. Perhaps we may come to some accord?”

Reclining back onto stocky haunches, Vonn tipped his chin, if only to gaze into the piercing blue of the north he’d long since missed. ”At the moment, I roam to repay a debt of life to, well, one that I am indebted to. As such, I will remain on the coast for some time. However, the moment I have fulfilled my payment, I will make my way to this Varitja and pledge myself to your claim.”

”I tire of travel, and I tire from being kept from the north. Although I must find Aure, it would be pleasant to remain in your company.” With a tip of an elegant head, Vonn regarded Wintersbane further, more than content to withdraw and allow the male to process this. ”With what you have told me, I am sure it is well kept,” another impish tug of the lips.